The last time I shaved was the morning of my father’s funeral, which was a month ago. I wanted to have a physical sign of my mourning. Originally I thought to shave my head, but the first thing that Dad said to me when I first arrived in the hospital to see him before he passed was “C.K., your hair is beautiful!”
I decided to grow a mourning beard and give it at least a month. It’s been a month, and as you can see, I’m not genetically inclined to grow a beard. Or at least not quickly. It’s actually on the verge of becoming a real beard, and I’m not really done mourning yet, so I’m continuing to let it grow.